Maraclea
by Haus
Summary: The consequences of becoming Jack.


"-Jack. Jack…wake up."

"Why…" Alex mumbled and opened his eyes, still bleary from sleep. The bright rays of morning that lit up his room practically burned his retinas, which was strange considering that Nigel only ever visited him like this at night. A secret 'rendezvous' or whatever the other cared to call it. He turned over onto his back and brushed against Nigel's arms with the motion. The boy's complete disregard for personal space would have bothered him a few months ago. Now he could hardly bring up enough strength or pride to care.

The Jack has no need for such things when he has the Spade. The two are all what's needed for Eternity.

Alex stiffened. The thought was clear and concise- but not his own. Was it? Wasn't it? Nigel laughed above him, his dark red lips twisted into a marred smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"And I've told you, my name is Alex." He curled the comforter tightly around himself. It was always freezing in this hellhole. Nigel stayed silent, not bothering to reply and continued to smile in that unnerving way of his. As if he knew all of Alex's secrets. He probably did, Nigel seemed to know everything. "Let me sleep in…it's Saturday."

More quiet laughter, and the bed creaked as Nigel leaned in closer. Nigel was sitting on the bed with his knees on either side of Alex's reclining form. The boy usually wasn't so close, but he supposed it didn't really matter. Their minds were so interconnected it felt as if Nigel was always there anyway. "The Sabbath is for rest, Jack. There is still work for you today."

Alex was too tired to correct him again or even roll his eyes, he merely groaned softly and sat up straighter in his bed. It was no use to argue, Nigel always seemed to get what he wanted one way or another. But that didn't mean Alex had to be pleasant about it. "What do you mean?" he asked brusquely, a frown steadily becoming stuck on his face. When was the last time he smiled though…? He couldn't remember. His life before meeting Nigel seemed forever ago, as if it never really happened.

Nigel's eyes bored into Alex's, impossibly deep and piercing. Could he read other people's minds like that? Was he trying to delve further into their already too interwoven thoughts? These musings strangely didn't scare Alex at all. The other's presence kept him…calm. Alex didn't like him by any means, but he trusted Nigel not to hurt him for some reason, some reason other than all those cryptic Templar recitations. And if Nigel was nearby then he wasn't acting on one of his many schemes that he always seemed to-

Nigel leaned in so close that their chests were touching and pressed his chapped lips to Alex's. "Today…today is the day when we will fully become one, Jack." You must be mine before you take your Maraclea.

Alex's eyebrows furrowed, suddenly feeling dizzy and disoriented. What was Nigel doing and "Who's Mara-"

Nigel kissed him again and moved his lips against the other's full ones this time. His long, pale fingers slid their way into Alex's hair, petting his hair back as if he were Luther, his dog. The dog that seemed to be the only other recipient of Nigel's affections or something beyond the classic sociopathic apathy and indifference.

The dark haired boy left a slow 'shh' in the corner of Alex's mouth and gently gripped his shoulders to prop him against the headboard of the small dormitory bed.

It's better that you don't remember now. Open your mouth.

His lips parted tentatively, obeying the thought as it entered his mind. Alex's breath hitched in concern. Why did he do that? Was it him thinking that or-

Nigel slipped his tongue into the boy's mouth, letting it trace experimentally along the other's teeth before plunging deeper and stroking it against Alex's lax one. A gentle hand peeled away the covers Alex had wrapped himself in then massaged lightly at his stomach, smoothing his palm back and forth underneath a t-shirt.

He heard a zipper be undone and the crisp sound of slacks being eased off skin. Nigel had taken his pants off and was doing the same to Alex's pajama bottoms, never pausing the petting on his abdomen as if he was pacifying the taller boy, lulling him deeper into this detached haze. Nigel briefly broke the kiss, somehow knowing that Alex was just beginning to see fireflies and needed air.

"Get off me," Alex managed to plead between shallow, softly ragged inhales. "Please…get off." The words sounded empty even to him. He wasn't surprised when Nigel ignored them completely, moving his hands to grasp Alex's thighs and push them towards the headboard as well.

"Relax, Jack." Alex could hear the smile in the brunette's voice as Nigel rutted against the tender flesh of his thigh. Nigel was getting hard. He felt precum smear onto his skin and slowly drip down to his buttocks.

"Nigel-" he began, before gasping as the boy lined up with his anus and started to push past the tight ring of muscle. "Fuck!" Alex protested. The grip on his thighs became bruisingly hard and Nigel pushed in further, his breathing starting to become more labored. There wasn't any lube or preparation so the entry ached and burned. Even as slow as Nigel was going, it hurt.

Don't make so much noise, bite down on something if you have to. We mustn't be interrupted.

"Jack…" Nigel groaned, pulling out before thrusting in again deeper than he did last time. This rhythm continued until Nigel was in to the hilt, pausing to let Alex finally adjust.

Alex bit down harshly on his bottom lip, trying to not make a sound as Nigel began moving again. Nigel set a steady pace and kept his thrusts deep rather that fast, fucking Alex into the headboard. The bed started creaking beneath them.

"God…Jack. You're so tight. So mine and…perfect." Another moan and a push at Alex's thighs, spreading him wider. "Jack." Nigel started fucking him harder, faster, and a drop of blood beaded up from Alex's lips where his teeth bit down enough to break through.

Nigel leaned down and nosed along Alex's jaw, moving up to kiss away the blood on Alex's mouth, before stopping to breathe into his ear. Every groan and pant and ragged breath of 'Jack' intoned into the boy's ear. Jack.

Jack.

A hand stopped clenching around Jack's thigh to wrap around his dick instead, attentively pumping him in time with the now quick, rough fucking.

There, Jack. Cum. That's it.

Jack was slammed against the headboard again, over and over now and Nigel groaned loudly into his ear as he finally came inside the other. Immediately, Jack felt a wave of sensation overwhelming him as well. Like his neurons shattered or imploded or started to fall apart as if rushing through a sieve. More mental than physical. His nerves overloaded as he came as well, splattering white onto both of their stomachs.

Nigel's hand ran through Jack's hair, smiling and rubbing small circles into his temple. The boy underneath him was still shuddering softly from his release.

Nigel finally pulled out. He inclined his head to kiss Jack's forehead: three across, one up, and one down. A cross; a christening.

"It's complete Jack."

We are united.

* * *

Nigel is all laid out for him now, and Jack feels the tears start to well up in his eyes. Strange how he's crying yet can't feel a thing. The only emotion inside him now is an all consuming bitterness. A melancholy that drives him to this. He sets the flashlight down onto the floor and uses both of his hands to pull out the compartment Nigel's corpse had been stowed away into in the morgue.

Nigel had said Eternity, and now he was dead. He had left. After he had gone through Jack's mind and took everything from him, after Nigel had never left his side and forced Jack to need him, he had left.

Jack took away the white shroud from Nigel's body and unzipped his jeans. The boy looked so peaceful in death. Happy. Perhaps smug. He had finally got what he wanted after all.

He kissed Nigel long and hard, the corpse's lips were no longer soft or warm. It was as if his body, with the absence of life, became a sort of statue. A testament to what the boy used to be. Nigel would have thought that sentiment likened him to one of those Templars immortalized in stone. The morgue was his museum.

He pressed a final two kisses on his eyelids and his grip on the edges of the metal slab tightened. Jack's knuckles turned white from a hollow anguish, before grasping under the boy's knees instead.

Nigel was mistaken. Susan was never his Maraclea.


End file.
